The Golden Age
by comptine
Summary: 1585. The Spanish Kingdom grows with every passing day. It’s leader, Philip II, has cast Europe into a holy war. Only one empire stands in its way.
1. Prologue

_The Golden Age_

_Prologue  
_

_-__  
_

_1585_ - _Madrid, San Jerónimo el Real_

The church's high-domed ceilings echo with the Latin hymns of the monks. Their voices sing as one, calling upwards to the heavens, praising His name. A man walks by the ecclesiastics, his green eyes kept low in the presence of men so holy.

His boots are silent on the delicate marble floors and his shadow flickers in the candle light, a monster cast against the walls that depict scenes of war and salvation.

Finally, he reaches his destination, a long hallway at the end of which stands a man draped in expensive attire. Quietly, he waits for him to finish his prayers, his eyes still trained at his feet.

A rustle of cloth alerts him and he straightens. Philip II strides towards him, his face blank and lost within thought. The ruler walks by without a word or even a nod of recognition. Instead, his hand reaches out and he mumbles, "Come my daughter."

Turning, he sees a young woman standing behind him, her pale cheekbones high and gaze steady. "Isabella…" The name is spoken with adoration. "God has spoken to me. The time for our great enterprise has come." She fidgets slightly, dark eyes flicking between her father and the silent man standing behind him in the shadows.

He takes her hand, continuing to lecture her fondly. "England is enslaved to the devil." The young woman's eyes continue to dart back to the man following her and her father. "We must set her free."

Holy men line their path towards the large black double doors. Their faces are solemn and held proud as their leader walks by them. They do not look at the man trailing them, rather ignoring him as one would a poor beggar on the street with shifty, untrusting eyes.

The doors open and blinding sunlight fills the dark insides of the basilica. Cheers, shouts and a crowd of over a thousand gathered people explode into life, chasing away the dull song of the monks.

Carefully, the princess let's go of her father's hand and walks forward so that she can overlook the swarm of faces. She leans against the banister and casts a look back at her father, doubtful. He backs away into the shadows of the church, nodding calmly and fingering the jewels around his neck. His mouth whispers orisons as his daughter turns her attention back to the congregation.

The man steps forward, leaning his head so his ear rests beside the murmuring lips. He deciphers only one thing in the midst of the Latin. "Begin the preparations. England will be freed." Bowing his brunet head, he turns on his heel and disappears into the belly of the church.

All the while, his daughter grips a doll in her hand, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I was watching _Elizabeth: The Golden Age_ and the total regality of it really inspired me to research to Elizabethan Era. This will be heavily, heavily, **heavily** based on the film, but will focus more on Arthur.

Just as a quick thing, the Nations are just emerging onto a more global scale. Before, they spent most of their time disguised amoung the common people, unsure of why they never changed. Their rulers are just finding them and figuring out what they really are.

Hopefully this story won't bog me down too much, but knowing me...


	2. Bribery

_The Golden Age_

_Chapter 1_

_Bribery_

-

**London, Palace of Westminster**

Arthur rather disliked these meetings. While not officially a member of the Court or Parliament, the Queen thought it would be good if he attended. While her Council would give her advice -never orders, God forbid- on the matters of religion, the growing Spanish influence and the welfare of her citizens and economy, he would be forced into a corner, told to keep his mouth shut and his ears open.

He stares out a window for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour. The Thames and London spread to the edge of the ocean, dipping out of sight behind a blazing sunset. His head leans against the window as he imagines the smell of the sea and the feel of the water on his skin. Slowly, he loses himself in the days he spent on the high seas, with nothing more than the sun daring him to chase it.

"What would you have me do?" The Queen's suddenly sombre tone wrests him from his memories. "Hang half the people of England? Or perhaps just imprison them?"

The Council cast doubtful looks at each other. Arthur sits up a little straighter, his attention piqued. Perhaps this meeting was about to get more interesting.

"We must act! Every moment spent in standstill is perceived as weakness." One councilman pleas with her. He dare not speak any more plainly for fear of having his own neck hung.

Elizabeth places her hands on the table, fingers splayed over numerous reports and accounts. "If my people break the law, they will be hung. Otherwise, they are protected." Her voice is decisive and leaves no room for argument. The chamber is silent save the quiet rustle of paper.

Sighing, Arthur turns his attention back to the window, bored once again. The council ends on a tense note and the room quickly empties save for the Queen, her guard and Arthur.

"Lord Kirkland," the formality catches him off guard. "Please, tell me, what did you think of the proceedings?" She waves him over and he steps towards her, inclining his head.

"Uh, they were good." He says.

Elizabeth smiles and shakes her head. "Ah, ah. Manners."

"Your majesty," He bows low, "I do believe they were quite satisfactory." He attempts to put on the most pompous tone his can muster.

"I should have you killed for your cheek." She says, but her smile gives away her amusement.

"Always." He bows again.

"But let us be forthright." She gently stands from her throne and talks his arm, leading him out of the council room, "What would you have me do Arthur? Should I let Mary take the throne? The church is heralding her as the true Queen and me as the bastard offspring of a false king."

He is silent as they walk through the palace. Many stop to bow in the Queen's presence before continuing about their day. She nods her head at only a select few, keeping her attention focused at a point in front of her.

Finally, Arthur manages to assemble his thoughts. "I think we should be careful. From what I know, Philip isn't a war hungry monster. He believes he is a man of God, so he'll need a reason so attack us."

Her blue eyes search him. "You don't think my Protestant beliefs aren't enough cause for war?"

"I think they're a reason for war," Arthur pauses for a moment, lowering his voice, "But he still needs a reason to declare war. Whatever that may be, I think that should be our biggest priority."

The Queen lets go of his arm, not looking at him. He stands uneasily, wondering if he has said the wrong thing. Maybe he should start listening to the meetings…

"A fair analysis." Elizabeth says, giving him a fleeting grin. "You might just learn yet, young Arthur."

"Thank you…" He mutters, letting out the breath he had been holding.

"Which brings us to our next subject." She beckons him to follow her. "The matter of your lessons. Sir Walsingham tells me that your tutors have not had the pleasure of your presence as of late."

The pirate coughs. "Has he now? I was under the impression I had paid off my teachers to keep their mouths shut." He attempts a smile but the Queen is clearly not pleased.

"Why do you do this to me Arthur? What do you have against learning the court?"

"It's too stuffy." He complains, slightly lame.

Her lip twitches. "Stuffy? A royal court? Why that's simply absurd." She reaches her chambers and places a hand on her door, "It matters not. I will be taking charge of your education now, and believe me, I'm am not easily bribed."

"What?!" His temper suddenly fires up. "You can't do that! I am not your personal little boy you can simply order around! I was a captain of a pirate ship! I deserve a little more respect than this!"

"You will master the ways of court Arthur." She says coldly, "This is my final say on the matter."

"And if I chose not?" He asks stubbornly, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders. There was no way he was going to bow to the will of this noble, no matter that she was the Queen or not. He was a pirate and by God if she thought he was going to abandoned it so easily-

"Then I will return you to the gallows from which I plucked you from." His jaw drops as she slides into her room, "I expect you here at the break of dawn. Practice starts tomorrow. Good night Lord Kirkland."

The door shuts and he scowls at it. Muttering angrily to himself, he stomps away. Of course Elizabeth would threaten him with death if he didn't follow one little order. She'll protect the Catholics that are openly trying to kill her, but she'll kill her own country just because he doesn't use the right fork at the dinner table.

Sighing, he leans against a wall. This was only the beginning of a very long, very painful year for him and he knew it.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Here we are! First chapter and I just finished the entire outline today.


	3. Puddle

_The Golden Age_

_Chapter 2_

_Puddle_

_-_**  
**

The forest hangs above them, dappled light illuminating the procession of carriages and guards. The woodsmen do not look up from their work, continuing to hack at the trees with their axes.

Inside the lead clarence, Philip stares out the window, his eyes not seeing the passing wood. He mutters to himself, speaking of the fleet he will build. Truly no greater fleet will sail under His name.

Across from him, his daughter plays with the doll, her fingers carefully running over the tiny corset's back. The two other figures in the coach are silent. One has his emerald eyes kept trained on the princess and her doll while the other stares at the ruler pointedly, hands fiddling within the deep folds of his cloak.

Philip seemed to come out of his cogitation and turns to the man. "Antonio." The gaze flickers to the king, "Why does Elizabeth lend her ear to the Devil?"

Lips purse as he thinks of a reason. In the moments that follow, his stomach grows and he clutches it, smiling nervously. The princess eyes him before returning her attention to the doll. "Perhaps," he says, attempting to retain a semblance of seriousness "she is just lost."

Snorting, the king's hand waves off his attempt at an explination. "It matters not. She will listen when the greatest fleet ever constructed is at her front door." His fingers interweave, golden rings meshing together. Inspecting his hands, he seems to lose himself again. Antonio watches charily and as Philips fist suddenly closes, crushing an imaginary foe, he flinches slightly.

"Please Majesty…" The other man suddenly speaks up. He stares at the King, hands clutched into fists in his lap. His neck is tense and he shivers with suppressed emotion, "Send me to England. Let me do God's work."

Antonio's eyes widened. In the following silence, he watches his ruler carefully, watching for any hint of the subterfuge going on in his King's mind. He wants Elizabeth taken from her throne and the rightful Queen to replace her, but murder seemed simply barbaric, especially done so clandestinely.

Disquietingly, Philip smiles and slowly nods his head. He lifts his hand, marking the air in front of the assassin with the trinity. "Go Anthony," Standing, the assassin moves to the door, shooting Antonio a sneering smile before gracefully stepping out. As the carriage pull away, green eyes watch the black-cloaked figure until he disappears into the thinning trees.

* * *

The pageant slowly walks through the outside arches of the church. A wind curls through the crowd, gently ruffling skirts and the flags that line the Queen's path. Noblemen and their wives carefully dip their heads as she walks by. She is swathed in fine white satin that gleams brilliantly in the sunlight. Behind her, a lace cloak flaps in the breeze, a thin pair of wings clinging to her shoulders.

Her Ladies walk behind her, keeping their faces upright and proud. They mirror her, bathed in gowns of the purest white, but no matter how similar they looked, none could boast the simple regality that Elizabeth had.

Trailing behind them all is a very surly-looking Arthur. The Queen had proven to be an even worse teacher than his tutors. Every morning -barely a minute past the break of dawn, confirming his belief that she never slept- she would make him run through the proper manner for addressing every noble, servant or visitor. While their afternoons were spent learning the tongues of the world and other areas of academia so instead of spending the sweltering days outside, he would be stuck inside the library.

Arthur tried to make a point that learning other languages could be considered treason against the crown but Elizabeth had simply berated him in Spanish and rapped him over the head with her fan. Though he loathed to admit it, he was fighting a losing battle.

Casually, he looks to his right at one of the guards that escorted Elizabeth and her retinue. He is a burly man with a strong, bearded jaw and shoulders set and proud. Arthur is sure the man would willing take a bullet for his Queen in a heartbeat, which, considering the currently rebelling Catholic public, was not out of the realm of possibilities.

He attempts a friendly smile. Perhaps they could bond with each other, the only two men in a parade of women. His grin is met with a grunt and a hand tightening around a broadsword.

Arthur quickly looks away, hand unconsciously moving up this his neck. Tugging at the unfamiliar attire at his throat -some kind of lace cravat the Queen had forced him to wear- he sighs, eyes gazing around at the assembled, silent crowd.

All this pomposity did not suit his taste. Everywhere they went, the streets would always stop moving, pausing for a moment in time to bow and gaze in subtle awe of the Virgin Queen. He can't remember the last time he saw something exciting happen when he was in the presence of Elizabeth.

At that very moment there is a flurry of movement in front of the Queen. The guards all surge forward, shouting orders over the hiss of swords behind drawn. The ladies-in-waiting back away, muttering hysterically to each other. Lady Bess -the Queen's favourite- is frozen, a hand clutched to her mouth in fear.

Rather than fearing for his monarch's life, Arthur's first instinct is to run forward and see if there was any blood. Finally, some action to break up this monotone life he had been dragooned into.

But by the time he and the guards were at Elizabeth's side, they realize that the assassin was nothing more than a blue jacket. The silence that followed had nothing to do with the royal presence.

The Queen looks down her nose at the navy coat, auburn eyebrows raised. She then delicately turns her head to the side, admiring the man that had thrown his jacket down.

He is thin but well built, his noble clothes torn and frayed. The skin is tough, calloused though handsomely tanned. His blue eyes find the Queen's and he does not bow his dishevelled head, but holds her gaze. "A puddle." He says, voice deep with a playful edge, nodding down at his coat. The smile he offers her is charming but there is still an untrustworthy air about him.

Arthur steps forward, scrutinizing the man. There is something about him…

"A puddle." The Queen confirms, her face oddly blank.

Above them, church bells ring and the breeze whistles through the air.

The smallest ghost of a smile crosses her elegant features and she takes a step forward, her slippered foot stepping on the jacket. Her entourage quickly follows, all averting their stares from the rugged man.

Arthur dallies behind a moment longer, thick brows furrowed as he attempts to recall where he's seen the face. The man, apparently pleased with his work, kneels and picks up the jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. Then, noticing Arthur's stare, winks at him. "You better hurry or she'll leave you behind."

Scowling, the pirate walked stiffly away, attempting his best court manner. He then proceeded to trip and stumble, almost falling face first into a puddle. Cheeks now burning, he hurried after the procession, telling himself that the laughter coming from the crowd was not directed at him.

The inside of the church is bright, it's high windows inviting the sun to dazzle through, illuminating the marble floors and golden alters. Priests wing the red carpet, beards quirked upwards in respectful smiles at Elizabeth glides by. Arthur follows behind, but stops as the Queen and her ladies move under a small wooden archway into a private chancel.

He watches from a distance as the Queen kneels at the alter, enshrouded in a soft, golden light that seemed to emanate from her very being. Bess passes her a small Bible before taking her place at Elizabeth's right hand.

Before total silence falls, Arthur swears he hears his queen laugh and say, "A puddle."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm going to try for weekly updates, but no promises…


	4. Courted

**The Golden Age**

**Chapter 3**

**Courted**

**-**

The Throne Room is filled with people. The elegant curved windows let the afternoon sunlight stream in, illuminating the exotic costumes and offerings of the people who have come to visit the sovereign. A long crimson carpet leads from the entranceway to the stairs that hold Elizabeth's throne. Her golden gown shimmers every time she shifts, casting tiny dots of light around the room.

Dialects from every corner of the world fill the air in a pleasant hum while Elizabeth speaks with one of her advisors, discussing whether or not the docks can be closed should the Spanish attack. To her left Francis Walsingham, the Queen's most trusted advisor and Spymaster of her court, hovers over her shoulder.

On her right, her ladies of the privy chamber sit, poised and gently fanning themselves, gossiping behind the fluttering material. Bess is missing, though Elizabeth has not demanded of her so Arthur suspects that she is out on a private mission for the queen.

He shifts his weight uncomfortably from side-to-side, wishing nothing more than to be able to sit down. Elizabeth has promised him the night off if he manages to not make a scene today and the enticement is too good to pass up. He accidentally bumps shoulders with a noble but doesn't apologize, hoping the man will leave him be.

A hand taps his shoulder and he turns, preparing himself for an onslaught of court manner-based reprimands. The aristocrat is taller than him, dark brown hair combed back, save for a single rebellious piece standing almost straight up. His coat was deep royal purple and his glasses flashed in the light as he peered at Arthur. "_Sie benötigten etwas_?" The language is German; one of the few Elizabeth hasn't shoved down his throat.

"Uh…" He says awkwardly. "I don't speak-"

"German." The brunet finishes for him in flawless English, a hint of scorn in his voice. Long fingers push his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he offers his hand. "You must be Lord Kirkland."

Arthur takes the proffered hand, slowly shaking it. "Yes, that would be me." Then, remembering his manners, "Forgive me, but I do not know who you are."

He opens his mouth to give his name but a sudden ripple courses through the Court, halting his voice. "The Spanish…" is whispered over and over again, scattering through the crowd.

Six men stride down the aisle, heads held arrogantly high. At the lead is a short, stout man with a pointed goatee. His small eyes glean as he offers a low bow to the Queen, his dark cloak fanning out behind him. At the back of the party hangs the tallest of them, thought he seems nervous in the presence of the English Court, his green eyes darting in every direction.

"Ambassador." Elizabeth says, offering a pleasant smile and a small nod of her head.

The Spanish move to the side and the court seems to calm, though quiet buzz of whispers the still hum in the air.

Another cluster of nobles move forward, the lead one supporting a large painting of an older looking man with a beard and large black beret. Beside the man carrying the painting is large man, his hair the lightest of blonds and blue eyes trained on the Queen. "King Eric of Sweden, Majesty." A page announces.

She sighs. "Not again…"

"Still in love with you." Francis mutters, gazing guardedly at the Swedish entourage.

Moving forward, the tall blond bows. "Y'r Maj'sty." His voice is a low rumble and the words are more grunts than dialogue. "My k'ng s'nds h's gr'tin'."

"Thank you Sir Berwald. Be sure to send him my best as well." She says dismissively, waving him away. He bows low again and moves off to the side, taking a place beside Arthur and the German, offering them both a curt nod.

The courtier clears his throat. "Ivan, Tsar of Russia's and the Muscovite Dominions." This envoy is dressed in thick furs and bulky coats; their faces suspiciously staid save for one.

A monster of a man stands at the forefront, a dazzling smile on his face, though it is half hidden by a pale scarf. He towers over everyone and the entire court seems to shrink back, though Elizabeth does not even blink in his presence. "You must be Ivan Braginski."

His smile only grows and he nods his large head. "Yes, your Majesty. Forgive me." He says in heavily accented English, "I'm still learning."

The Queen dips her head in understanding. "добро пожаловать Ivan."

He visibly brightens at the sound of his own tongue, his smile not as forced as he also joins the Court, standing beside Berwald, at least half-a-head taller than him. He grins down at the other three. Arthur tries to hold his head a little higher.

"Better known as 'Ivan the Terrible', Majesty." The steward continues, shooting his queen a very significant look. Her fingers drum on her knees and she exchanges slightly bemused glances with Francis, who shrugs.

The Spanish ambassador glares pointedly at the Queen, daring her to accept the suitor and face the wrath of his king. She ignores him, but waves off the portrait of Ivan the Terrible.

There is a gentle sweep of cloth as Bess hurries down the line, sinking into a low curtsey. "Late." The Queen says coldly. "Please, let it not happen again."

The Lady looks up at Elizabeth, catching the hint of a wink. "Of course, your Majesty." Bess hurries to join the other ladies-in-waiting, cheeks glowing with pride. As she passes the queen, she whispers something that brings a smile to Elizabeth's face.

"The Archduke Charles of Austria, majesty." Beside him, the German straightens slightly, a hand carefully fixing the cravat tucked at his neck. A member of the Austrian court. Perfect, exactly what he needed, another prick on a high horse. "Brother to the Holy Roman Emperor and cousin to Philip of Spain."

Arthur is startled as the Queen motions for the painting to come closer so she can gaze at the Archduke. She couldn't really be considering letting him become ruled by some stuck-up youngling halfway across Europe. Could she? Would she really let her Kingdom fall from her hands?

He tries to see her face, but it's hidden behind the painting. "An alliance with Austria would keep Henry subdued." The spymaster says and, in a whisper, "And Spain tied down."

The pirate was staring at Francis with outright abhor in his eyes, but the advisor seemed too focused on the queen to notice the nation's glare.

"How thrilling." She finally says. Immediately, Arthur relaxes. The tone of her voice suggests that she would rather jab her own eyes out than marry the Austrian. He was safe, at least, for now.

But his relief is short lived. "Send for him." Elizabeth orders the courtier, who bows deeply and hurries off.

Her eyes watch the Spanish mutter among themselves, narrowed. Arthur steps out of the line and, ignoring the usual protocol, walks up to the throne and accosts the queen in an angry whisper, "You can possibly be considering this Elizabeth." He sounds slightly pleading, "Really, you'd hand over your empire to a young boy who's barely older than me?"

"Peace Arthur." She murmurs back, "I will not give you over as quickly as you think." Taking his hand, she gives it a comforting squeeze.

"That still begs the possibility that you are considering it." He hisses, snatching his hand back and storming away. Once back in line, he lowers his head, avoiding the gazes and ignoring the muttering of the court.

The courtier awkwardly clears his throat and the assembly quiets. There is a sudden eruption of shouting and movement from the end of the hall. The pirate from the previous day strides in accompanied by his crew.

Before he reaches the Queen, who seems completely unsurprised by the arrival, the Spanish ambassador steps forward. There is outright hate in his eyes and voice, "Majesty, this man is a pirate. Stealing from our ships and attacking without provocation." The pirate stops mid-stride, only a few feet away from the Queen. He watches her carefully.

Elizabeth allows him forward with a casual wave of her hand. "Well, what do you want sir?"

He bows. "I have returned from the New World." Arthur's head perks up, "I have called Virginia. In your name, the Virgin Queen."

Elizabeth lifted her hand, gently resting it on her nose, trying to hide her small grin. "And when I marry, will you change it? Sir Walter Raleigh?" At this, the court laughs and England smiles despite trying to appear sullen and downtrodden.

"I came to ask permission to return to the New World with a royal warrant." The laughter dies away, "I want to build a colony in the name of England." Beside Arthur, the German frowns, his eyes hooded.

Francis leans near his queen's ear, whispering in it yet again. "He wants money."

The pirate scowls at the advisor, he whispers to a crewmate, who hurries back down the hall. "I brought you gifts, Your Majesty."

"These gifts are nothing more than stolen goods." The Spanish Ambassador speaks again, his voice carrying across the whispering of the crowd. Behind him, his entourage advances. The tallest among still wary, nervously gripping the hilt of his sword and looking anywhere but at the Queen. "They belong to Spain and the ships from which he stole them!"

Elizabeth looks between the two men. Walter keeps her gaze, while the Spaniard looks furious. "We shall see." A crease appears on the ambassador's forehead. "Bring them."

The shipmate returns with an entire brigade of people. Each carries baskets filled with objects and items never seen in the court before. Save for the last people to enter. Between them is a large trunk from which glittering mounds of golden coins.

As each person advances, the courtier would pluck the item from the basket and bring it to the Queen. Walter narrates from a respectful distance. "Corn." He says, as the queen observed the odd yellow vegetable. She passed it to Bess, who sniffed it, giggling slightly.

The next was a large stone-shaped tuber covered in dirt. Elizabeth took a bite of it, pulling a face. The pirate smiled. "Potatoes, Your Majesty." Francis held it at arms length, dropping in a nearby servant's hand.

Walter shoots out a hand, catching the last two men. Slowly, he reaches down and pulled a coin out of the chest, holding it up, letting it catch the light. Arthur vaguely remembers when it was his only goal in life to steal every piece of bullion in the world. His spoils were the envy of every pirate on the Seven Seas. He sighs longingly.

His forlorn memories are short-lived as the Spanish consort steps forward, the Ambassador scowling, his rat-like features accentuated. "That is Spanish Gold," He spits, gesturing wildly at the chest before gathering his haughty nature. "Forgive me. The smell of open sewers is too much." He turns on his heel, striding out of the court, his men hastening after him.

"Take that back!" Arthur shouts, drawing his sword in a swift move. The Spaniards stop, the tall man's green eyes staring at Arthur, hand now grasping the hilt of his sword, slowly raising it out of its sheath.

Before the rest of the Spanish can react, the Queen is on her feet, drawn up to her full and formidable height. "Lord Kirkland!" She bellows, her voice snapping through the air, "Stow your blade before I have you hung!"

The moments that follow are strained. Arthur continues to keep his blade pointed at the ambassador's back, glancing at Elizabeth. Around them, the Royal Guard begins to circle England, knowing that one strike against the Spanish would doom their country. Conceding, Arthur's arm lowers, but his blade remains unsheathed. The ambassador smirks and continues to walk.

"Sir Raleigh I cannot accept stolen goods." Elizabeth says, loud enough so the Spanish hear her. They do not stop their retreat. As the last man leaves there is a visible easing of the court, though troubled talk begins among the nobles. Arthur watches the German whisper something to the Swedish man, gritting his teeth. Probably talking about what an uncultured barbarian he was. Not his fault he had the daring to stand up for himself without using fancy words and pointless talk.

"Each piece of gold I take from Philip only helps you Majesty." Raleigh says, dropping the coin back into the trunk. The rest of his crew quickly pick up their treasures and leave.

Elizabeth does not smile. "That has yet to be seen." She steps down from her throne and approaches Arthur. "We will discuss your behaviour at dinner. No matter your standing, such impudence shown in my court will not go unpunished." She exits through a side door, her Ladies following after her.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Ah, I'm sorry for the wait! This chapter was surprisingly long...

_History Info~_

- Sweden's King was known for his obsession with Elizabeth, but she turned him down time after time.

- Spain never declared official war on England (in truth there was never any "official" war between the two) and as such, the ambassadors were still allowed within her court.

- France does not have anyone at the court because, unsurprisingly, at the moment, France and England were at ends. Not war, but the two monarchs were not fond of each other.


	5. Dye

_Chapter 4_

_Dye_

The space beneath the church now held more than just dyed clothes. Anthony sits at the head of a table. Four other men surround him, the youngest among them barely of age. He seems uncomfortable in the presence of the older men, but only his shifting eyes hinted at his discomfort.

A monk moves around them, ignoring the men while he dips white cloth into huge vats of thick crimson liquid.

The door bursts open and a hooded figure hurried down the stairs, pulling the door shut. The company of assassins are on their feet, drawing small knives from various part of their person. Anthony doesn't pull out a weapon, but rather inclines his head in the direction of the hooded man. "You were not followed I assume?"

A tanned hand pushes the hood man, revealing Antonio. His brown curls flop into his eyes as he shakes his head. "I was not." He glances around the table, watching the men replace their blades, though their hands continue to hover near the hilts. "I've ordered to oversee you. Please, continue." Spain moves into a corner, flipping his hood back of his head, shadowing his face.

As soon as the four men around the table have relaxed - though gazes still flicker back to the nation - the youngest stands, his composure shattering. "Why do we wait?" He demands, fist slamming onto the table, "What good is that whore on the throne? We have a rightful Queen and yet you insist on waiting!" he directs this at Anthony, trembling slightly.

The assassin blinks, emotion shifting behind his eyes. "The Spymaster knows of us." He says calmy, "You remember what happened to the one who betrayed us?" There is a stiffening around the table. Spain leans in closer, hoping to hear more, but Anthony doesn't elaborate, clearly pleased with the reaction, "There are none among you I can trust."

There is a pause in which the monk pulls a cloth out of a tub and hangs it from the ceiling. Red drips onto the floor. "So what will we do?" the youngest asks, but more unsure than before.

Anthony smiles at him, but his eyes focus on hooded man. "We will wait."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Lack of chapter and words will be made up for with an excellent chapter next time :D Some of the chapters will be very short, some will be long and it will vary, sorry!


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